Tetherhold
by Her Majesty of Pluto
Summary: "He was never one to stay in bed after sex. He would put his clothes back on really quick after they were done, his back to her. And always in the dark, so that all she would see was an arc of arm or a hint of fringe in the blue glow from the fish tank."


**Disclaimer:** The characters of Mass Effect belong to Bioware. Jacob's package is Jacob's own.

**Author Note(s): **For once, I don't know what to say about this fic. Have been working on it for a while; taking a step back, leaving it alone, then going back to it. It is perhaps my way of exploring the relationship between the couple... Still, I hope it will be a good read. :)

**Warning: **A long one-shot.

* * *

><p><strong>Tetherhold. <strong>

**I**

He was never one to stay in bed after sex. He would put his clothes back on really quick after they were done, his back to her. And always in the dark, so that all she would see was an arc of arm or a hint of fringe in the blue glow from the fish tank.

When he was done dressing, he would stare at the tanks before turning, slowly as if afraid to wake her. She could sense him reaching out but his hand always ended just a fraction of a finger's breadth away from her face, such that she could feel his quivering warmth but never quite touch it.

That hand would be withdrawn and she thought she could hear him clenching it into a fist. With a quiet, "I will be in the forward battery if you need me," he would leave and _leave_ in his wake that void upon the bed she knew he was never quite comfortable in.

She let that go on a few times — the dressing in the dark, the waking up to that stretch of empty beside her — before her own hand would freeze, just short of the intercom button that would call him.

And he was still there when she needed him, still there when she needed sniper cover, a spotter, or a leader for a second fire team. She still heard him over the field comms; hear that excitement each time he got a good kill, his praise when _she _or anyone in the fire team got the same. When they spoke about matters not regarding missions or ship business, he was still awkward like she was flirting something new.

The Collector mission finally completed, she thought he would ease up and celebrate, if not for her at least for the rest of the crew who'd come to see him as more than "the turian in the battery". He was the one who'd persuaded her that one day to give the entire crew a much needed shore leave. She had a feeling someone put him up to it and that there was money to be had (pooled in a discretionary crewmembers' fund) if he succeeded. She didn't ask for the details when she agreed with him.

She chose Illium because she knew what he thought of Omega. A part of her wanted him to chat up some titty asari and ease tension, no strings attached. No need for alcohol, mood music and awkward compliments. Especially no need to think about what it all meant now that they were not just teammates, subordinate and leader, but interspecies lovers with all manners of baggage.

She didn't join them, saying clubs and bars simply didn't do it for her.

But he'd left the club early, stumbled into her quarters where she was trying to find some respite in one of Kasumi's books. He was a little drunk, she could tell from the glassy-eyed way he was staring at her, and the way he had to brace himself against the bit of wall separating her two tanks in order to stand. He did not seem to realise that he'd pressed the feeder by accident, what more notice the eager fish darting up to nip at their food.

She had been sitting up in bed, in nothing but a comfortable, old-world tank top, and her service pants. On seeing him, she set her book aside even as she breathed his name in surprise.

"That wine..." he slurred. "I'm sorry if it didn't cost much..."

He staggered down the stairs. Seeing him sway, about to topple over on the final stair, she rushed over to hold him up. He, being taller, loomed over her. While she struggled to keep him upright, he gripped her shoulders, so hard it made even her wince.

Hanging his head and almost nuzzling the back of her neck, he said again, his breath reeking of dextro-alcohol, "I never... I don't— Shepard, I am not like Thane."

"Garrus," she said, bracing against him as she steered him towards the sofa. "I don't know what you're not talking about."

"He has...all those words...nice words...physically he...I..."

He lurched forward. If she had been any other human female, he would have fallen right over and crushed her beneath his weight. She managed to throw his arm over her shoulder and with her own around his waist, she was practically dragging him to the sitting area. It didn't help that the turian couldn't seem to decide between resisting and slumping his entire weight on her.

Shepard let him drop unceremoniously onto the couch where he let his head loll back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. She noticed that his face appeared stark and realised that he wasn't wearing his visor. He didn't have a bad face. By turian standards, he was probably handsome. She turned away, aware that she might be projecting what she was never able to say.

"Shep..." she heard him say. Turning back, she saw him reach up to press a hand over his eyes, "Shepard...she was...asa-ri bodies...I didn't...their bodies are like humans...she had...but she's not—"

As much as she wanted to hear what he had to say, particularly who this other "she" was, seeing him struggle, she told him, "Don't speak, Garrus. You need to take it easy."

"She was good, spirits, she was good! But she was not...Shepard, not like, not remotely like —"

He didn't have a chance to finish his fragments of a sentence because he suddenly doubled over and started retching.

The anger came almost without her realising it and if this had been someone else, someone like Zaeed or Grunt, god, even Miranda or Jack, she would have punched him...two sharp blows right on the plates below his eyes where she knew it would hurt.

"I don't know how much you drank, turian! But you damn well not puke in my quarters!"

Over her shouting she could hear EDI saying, "The men's restroom is in the port side of the ship, Officer Vakarian."

Garrus did not seem to hear either of them. He'd stopped retching and Shepard could at least be grateful that he did not vomit all over her coffee table.

"She was not like...couldn't have been...I'm sorry..."

Maybe he had a reason. Maybe she should have been more careful about the things she thought about, but she didn't want to hear anymore. She called two of the guards up from the CIC and had them escort him back to the living space he'd made for himself in the main battery.

When they'd gone, Garrus strangely docile between the Bert and Ernest, she tried to get back to her reading, but failed at it. Her mind kept drifting to an image of Garrus with some titty asari, her dress cut low, ageless, supple and attractive to everybody in the galaxy. What was she, a scarred, battle-hardened commander with too-wide waist and a shaven head, compared to the galaxy's very embodiment of femininity?

She had been the one to tell Liara when she had the asari over for a drink on the Normandy that she thought Garrus deserved something better. She had not thought that implicit in that statement was that she thought he deserved some_one _better. Someone he need not hide behind his endearing humour from and someone he was not ashamed to look at or have them look at him when either or both were naked.

Yet, yes, she'd gotten angry as if she possessed what wasn't hers to possess in the first place.

**II**

Right after she'd concluded the call from Admiral Hackett about the rescue mission on Aratoht, Dr. Chakwas informed her over the intercom that several of her crew were showing symptoms of The-Morning-After-Shore-Leave. They were either nursing bad hangovers or the damages sustained after having had one too many. The good doctor concluded they would be out of duty for at least a day.

Shepard could not help but shake her head at the report she later received from Liara. She'd requested it and the asari had passed her the information after piecing the bits from different sources on Illium:

On a dare, Zaeed had downed a bottle of ryncol and was paying pretty dearly for it seeing how he was the only one laid up in the infirmary. In spite of being physically incapacitated, he was loudly going on and on about polite krogans being "bloody murderers" and "guddamn matriarch bar witches" who were in need of some burnin'.

Jack had batarian ale and Miranda, one too many shots of it in her cocktail. Both ended up fighting so Matriarch Aethyta had to call in Illium law enforcement to haul them into lock up. Liara had to pull strings to get them out, sparing Shepard the trouble.

Jacob got groped by a random asari...and suffered from a small case of mental injury rather than a physical one. Illium news later reported a break-in at an apartment that resulted in valuables lost and the rewriting of an asari's vehicle authorisation code.

Grunt got into a bit of trouble when Char accused him of staring at his girlfriend, but that problem was thankfully sorted out by Samara. Shepard couldn't imagine how.

Ken also got into a bit of trouble when a volus accused him of cheating after winning one too many hands of Skyllian Five Poker. Gabby and Kelly were on hand to get him out of it.

The report said nothing about Garrus, save for an observation that he left early saying he needed to check on his calibrations.

Shepard found herself lingering on the final bit of the report a little too long before closing it hastily.

She was relieved that a large part of her fighting crew was not laid up pissing and moaning. Thane was on leave and was currently on the Citadel visiting his son. Mordin had actually taken both Legion and Tali to Illium's finest theater to catch a performance of Earth's musical, _Cats_, by a multi-species cast. No problems there, although Legion, Shepard understood, had been confused.

All in all, a shore leave well-spent.

Shepard was tempted to ask Kasumi if she knew anything about Garrus and an asari, but figured she didn't need the extra stress. Not before a mission.

**III**

She tried to quell her unease by checking and rechecking her Widow anti-material rifle in the armoury. She'd grown attached to the rifle after finding it on the Collector ship. It was not meant to be fired by humans and even after the modifications, the recoil had thrown her off balance on her first shot. But she always was a woman who'd overcome impossible odds and relished the challenge in taming such a rifle. Whenever it took damage in a fire fight, she insisted on jury-rigging it herself rather than giving it over for state of the art weapons repair and maintenance. The routine of checking, cleaning, and loading the first thermal clip into it eased her mind off things.

Usually.

She could be glad at least that Jacob was hard at work at his station like the reliable soldier he was. On glancing up, it struck her how the back profile of him working on his console resonated Garrus' own so much. Blinking off the thought, she returned to the task at hand. About two hours away from the Bahak system and she was not in the best mental shape. She ought to ask Grunt to headbutt her.

However, try as she might, she was not able to shake off the sense of foreboding creeping up on her. It was a feeling far more unpleasant than finding Cerberus surveillance devices in her bathroom. She could not decide whether the feeling was related to the mission or what was going on between Garrus and herself, or rather the_ lack of_ what was going on.

She was perched on the table right beside the door leading to the briefing room. She registered it sliding open but did not bother looking up. She only perked up when she heard a familiar flanging voice greet Jacob, sounding much more sober than it had the night before.

"Hey, Jacob," the voice drawled, smooth as its operator was on the field, "strange that you'd be here after the _treatment_ you got on Illium."

She imagined Garrus winking, as a turian could wink, and heard Jacob laugh.

"Nah, ship's a little short staffed today. Figured I will need to catch whatever falls through the cracks," Jacob replied.

Shepard couldn't keep down the smirk but did not look up from her rifle.

"You mean to say Zaeed actually does work around here?" Garrus returned, feigning surprise.

"He's usually on trash duty, but Grunt has that covered today. Anyway, you need something or do you want to stand in for Miranda on reports?"

"Mmmm," Garrus rumbled thoughtfully. "Nah, I'll pass. Too much detail and make-nice work. Besides, she'll probably freak out if I so much as get a crumb on her work desk."

There was a pause before he said again, sounding a little uncertain, "I thought Shepard might be here."

Shepard looked up at her name, in time to see Jacob give her a smart salute before taking his leave. Garrus stood by the central table, turning what appeared to be Kasumi's Kassa Locust over in his hand, not looking at her.

"You know," she began, hoping her voice sounded light. "If you take over Miranda for today, who's going to do the calibrations?"

Garrus chuckled and set the Kassa Locust down before turning to her.

"You have a point there, Shepard," he said.

"You look well," she went on to say. "How are you feeling?"

The slight tilt of his face was not lost to her.

"I feel fine, Shepard." Turning back to her, he went on, "Frankly, I am more worried about you...as...always. Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're going on this next mission alone?"

He began to pace in front of her. It was his habit, she noticed, to pace whenever he was in contemplation.

"This is batarian space we are talking about and you know they are not the nicest people in the galaxy." Stopping in front of her, his eyes steady on her features, he said, "The prison is situated in a valley and surrounded by inclines. I'll provide overwatch."

"It will be enough of a galactic 'political shit storm'," she replied, air quoting as she did, "if they found me there busting Dr. Kenson out of jail. You and I both wouldn't want your people to get involved." With a valiant attempt at a knowing smirk, she added, "The turian council member already has a mistress to pay for. I am sure he doesn't need anything more on his plate."

Garrus was adamant. "I won't get caught."

"We're not taking any chances," said Shepard, slipping off the table and coming to stand before him with her arms crossed.

"Shepard..." he began, taking a step up to her.

"I've seen the prison schematics," she pointed out, aware that he was standing too close but not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her step away. "Plenty of underground passages that I can go through unseen. It's a simple mission: sneak in, break Kenson out, sneak out. If all goes well, the batarians will not even know I'm there."

"If all goes well," echoed Garrus bitterly. "And if it doesn't?"

Shepard hefted her Widow onto her shoulder and grinned up at him. "You know me, I am always up for surprises. I'll think of something along the way."

She was about to turn and leave, but Garrus caught her arm.

"Dammit, Shepard! Stop playing the hero!" She could feel his grip tighten through her armour. "How many times have you stepped into someone else's mess? How many shots can you take before it becomes too much? For a problem that isn't yours in the first place?"

"What do you want from me, Vakarian?"

He drew back, his eyes wide from something she fairly couldn't read.

She waited for him to say something. He'd opened his mouth a few times as if to speak and each time he clamped it shut, suddenly muted. The anger came again, but it was mixed with something else — that derision of disappointed hopes, and the persistent sense of foreboding. She needed none of that. Shaking his hand off her, she started for the main door of the armoury.

"Why don't you worry about your new asari girlfriend?" she suggested over her shoulder. "Let me take care of this mission."

She waited out the next hour in the Kodiak, trying not to think about how petty she must have sounded when she pulled the asari on him.

And couldn't help smiling a bitter one. She was sure the proper term was 'pulling the asari _off _him' because right then she believed that if she did see an asari so much as attempt to make eyes at Garrus, she'd do unto the asari what she'd done unto Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani of the disingenuous assertions. The thought at least gave her satisfaction enough to put her mind at ease before the mission.

**IV**

The mission in the now non-existent Bahak system dead and done, Shepard spoke to no one once the debriefing with Admiral Hackett in the medical bay was over. She'd opted to sit out the initial wave of melancholy in the nearest secluded spot available: the AI core where Legion was.

To Legion's greeting of "Shepard-Commander", she'd only replied with, "Sorry to bother you, Legion, but I need time to sit. Do not attempt to communicate with me."

As per her command, Legion was silent throughout, though he did manage to make her smile a little when he danced for a few seconds. The rest of the time Legion stood perfectly still and Shepard wondered if the 1183 geth units were somehow gaming on the extranet.

Foremost in her mind was the mission on Aratoht and later on the asteroid where she had to execute the Project. It drew her to look down at her hands, to rub them together to feel the roughness of her palms. Over three hundred thousand more lives had been added to it. She didn't want to think about the question of how many more.

She was not one to think about what-ifs and should-have-beens. But right then, she couldn't help but dwell. Had she been stronger, she would not have been sedated. Had she not been sedated, she might have had time to warn the batarian colonies of what was to come.

In her roiled regret and pain. She would accept the death penalty for what she'd done, gladly, for she felt she deserved it. But there was fear on the fringes of everything. Every soldier knew what he or she signed up for and death was a part of the contract. It didn't mean they wouldn't feel. Her fear was founded on what she would have to leave behind. And she thought about Garrus.

It was business as usual on the ship after the mission. Without a doubt, everyone knew what transpired the near two days she was away. The ones in the CIC would have seen her at her perch, that embodiment of the blasted pedestal they'd come to put her on. On it, she'd watched the system being obliterated by the shockwave from the resulting supernova, the thumbnail representations on the galaxy map bad jokes of what must have gone on groundside. None of them gave any indication that they knew anything about the mission. If they made any value judgments, they were kind enough to keep it to themselves. Either that or Miranda did a damn good job at damage control on board the Normandy.

After a few days, she could have believed that the mission and the deaths had not happened even as she waited the summons from Earth. She would have believed it had she not seen the dent on the table in the briefing room after a discussion with Miranda and Jacob.

When asked about it, Jacob's only answer was, "Not my place to say, Shepard. Hope you'll understand." He followed his salute with a swift exit.

Turning to Miranda, she leaned back on her heels and crossed her arms over her chest, a posture she often used when she vouched no arguments from her crew.

"It was Garrus, Shepard," the XO said after a protracted period of uncharacteristic hesitation. "He wanted to take the shuttle to find you but the Alliance brass would not allow it."

"The Alliance contacted you?"

"Yes," replied Miranda, "they did. Admiral Hackett wanted to come on board but even he needed clearance. It would have been a private meeting but Garrus got wind of it." Gesturing towards the dent, she added, "He later created that. I don't have to tell you how."

Scratching the back of her head, Shepard asked, "Do you think I should go talk to him?"

"It is advisable, yes." After a beat, she went on, "Frankly, I think relationships are overrated. Too many complications and far too much commitment involved. I am not suggesting you end anything, but I fully understand should you choose to."

With a light laugh, Shepard remarked, "Come on, Miranda. Don't deny that had I been a man, you'd want to be with me too."

Miranda narrowed her eyes in a steely glare. "Don't count on it, Commander."

Shepard did not, in fact, speak to Garrus. She did attempt it a few times, and always ended up short of the door by the length of the corridor that stretched from the mess to the forward battery. What followed was her talking to or checking in on everybody on that level _except _Garrus. Because what would she say? What _could_ she say to him?

"Hey, Garrus! I completed the mission and destroyed an entire system of batarian colonies in the process! Think I can't take of myself huh?" She doubted Garrus would appreciate that even with his indomitable sense of humour.

They crossed paths a few times, but it was always in a flurry of ship activity — Shepard at central command, Garrus in the main battery, one looking over mission reports, the other simulating projectile trajectory and tracking — passing through, never stopping. There were nods shared between them, very professional and as such, very distant. If it hurt, none of them showed it, and if they knew that the entire ship was talking about a bad break-up, they didn't show it either.

However, they couldn't always be busy and a meeting in a lull was inevitable. Shepard only wished it had not happened in an elevator. Garrus rarely went down to Engineering and that gave Shepard a sense of security in the latter days. She had not banked on meeting him while she waited for the elevator to arrive on the Engineering deck. The first thing that came to mind was to think of an excuse — "Oh, I forgot. I think Tali needed something" — and leave. But doing that would have made it very obvious that she was avoiding him.

She gave him a curt nod as she greeted him, "Garrus."

"Shepard," he returned, mirroring her gesture.

Turians didn't generally sweat but Shepard could tell that he'd engaged in some strenuous activity just moments before.

"Got into a wrestling match with Grunt, or did you simply help out with the heavy lifting in the shuttle bay?" she asked as they stepped into the elevator.

She heard Garrus chuckle.

"If I'd been in that wrestling match, I doubt I'd still be able to walk, Shepard," he replied.

Shepard caught herself just in time before she could pull his "reach and flexibility" argument on him. It would only remind them too much of their...first date.

"No, we'd set up a space below, for weight-lifting, uh, I don't need it much...running, full contact sparring. A few of us, namely Jack, Jacob, Thane...Grunt," he explained. "I just thought I could..." — a pause — "blow of some steam." Quickly, he added, "With Thane...uh, very nimble that one. In hand-to-hand combat, I mean."

A part of Shepard wanted to laugh, but what followed was an uncomfortable pause, a resonance of the long elevator rides in the Citadel. At least during those times, there was the news to listen to, or the banter between party members. The ascent to her quarters couldn't be fast enough.

She was relieved when the doors finally opened and only realised, as she was about to step out, that Garrus had not picked any floor.

Looking back at him, she said, "We'll talk another time, Garrus."

She expected him to nod and tell her, "I'll be here if you need me." At least that would have been a little comforting. Throughout the stresses of their suicide mission, and after the tensions founded on her crew members' various issues, that line had been all she needed to hear. She'd wrapped it around herself, like a security blanket, and she hadn't even known.

Instead, Garrus said, not looking at her, "I know about what happened on Aratoht and on the asteroid after that."

She waited for his reprimand, waited for him to be her moral compass so that she could wallow in her own guilt.

"I couldn't say I would have done it any differently, Commander."

After a beat, during which Shepard did not reply, he seemed to snap to his senses and reached out to select a floor.

It was then that she lashed out a hand to hold the elevator doors back.

"I'd like to see you in my quarters later when...it would be least disruptive to the crew." Sternly, she added as she met his eyes, "Sober."

Garrus lowered his head and nodded, before she let the doors close.

**V**

She waited for him, ended up downing a few shots of mixes and contemplated the bottle of ryncol she'd kept around for the galaxy knew what reason. Realising that it wouldn't do to be drunk if Garrus did show up, she threw back a potent shot of the "anti-drunk" Mordin concocted, tearing up as much as she had when they did the old-fashioned pepper spray exercise back in her training days as an Alliance Marine.

When he was still a no-show after two hours into the sleep cycle, she took a cold shower and went to bed. There, she couldn't sleep, couldn't stop herself from thinking about what he'd just said regarding her mission on Aratoht and implicitly the resulting genocide. She couldn't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed by his answer. She didn't even know where their relationship stood at that point of time.

She suddenly wished for a big suicide mission. Working towards it with impending doom in mind was oddly therapeutic. It kept her busy. An idle mind tended to think about unpleasant things. She desired objectives, goals towards an end. And where had that led her to? Lives, more than three hundred thousand of them snuffed at the push of a button. Anywhere else, in another's shoes, she would have agreed to take out the person who was responsible for those lives. She might have given a speech, and impressed. A killer of many could be the saviour of a few, and it worked the other way round too.

She was suddenly aware of the sound of the doors to her quarters sliding open. It was followed by someone's quiet footsteps. She listened as it approached and stopped by her bed. She was aware of the way the body stood, blocking the glow from the tanks and bathing her in shadow. She waited, but the presence remained like a mute statue by her bedside.

Finally, she spoke up: "Standing around in someone's room and watching them sleep is creepy, Garrus."

There was a startled shifting in the presence's stance.

"Oh! I didn't know you were awake, Shepard," a familiar, flanging voice replied, very nearly sputtering. "Act...actually, I knew. Visor, your heart rate..."

Shepard touched a switch by her bedside and the room lit up. Turning onto her back, she stared up at the turian standing awkwardly by her bed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"You took your time," she remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Garrus turned away and after what seemed like a lifetime accessing the layout of her quarters, sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and dropped his head.

"I owe you an explanation, Shepard," he began.

Shepard waited, watching his back profile.

"That day on Illium...the club had a...bachelor party going on. By some coincidence, knew the turian there. He invited me to sit with them for some drinks. Generally, I am what Joker would call someone who has a...baton up my ass?" — He shook his head. Faintly shuddered. — "Nevermind. Have never been the most relaxed sort of person but that day I just decided, why the hell not. The way humans celebrated bond ceremonies is intriguing..."

After a lapse, "The dancer was going around...when she came to me, she did what she did with everyone sitting around the table. She sat and...danced, in a way, on my lap. It was...um, pleasant, for a while. But..."

Here Garrus stopped, staring out at the fish tank.

"So, she gave you a lap dance and she turned you on," Shepard said, evenly. "That doesn't explain you stumbling into my quarters piss drunk."

Garrus glanced briefly over his shoulder at her. "She...uh, propositioned me..."

Shepard wanted him to stop talking right there and her weakness sickened her.

"But I couldn't. I kept seeing you, in her place, and you everywhere. Damn Shepard, in my mind, it was you on the battlefield, on missions, hauling sorry asses out of muck and fires and impossible situations...and you...with me... So I upped and left, got my spurs to another bar and got myself wasted enough for the owner to bundle me into a cab. How I ended up on the Normandy...what more your quarters, I don't know."

He paused, then added, "Instinct, I guess."

Shepard was silent. She couldn't decide on what to feel. What did his story warrant? Happiness? Relief?

"Tell me, Shepard," she heard him say, sounding desperate, almost crazed. "What happens now? What will the council say? The Alliance, the batarian government?"

Staring up at the ceiling, Shepard replied, "I feel like a murderer. On Earth, mass murderers get the death sentence."

She thought she could hear Garrus tightening a clenched fist. When he next spoke, he was so quiet, she could barely hear him:

"I lost you once already."

There was something at once sad and hard in his voice. It sounded as if he was cursing, lamenting, and rationalising all at once.

She sat up to wrap her arms around him from behind. It seemed awkward to do so, but it felt right; the way everything about Garrus felt right, how he fit and fit himself into her life, her routines, her way of fighting.

"You have me now," she told him.

He had always been gentle, so it startled her when he took hold of her wrists and turned. In the next instant, she found herself flat on her back again, his hands holding hers down and effectively pinning her to the bed.

"I was doing fine, until you showed up and screwed with everything," he remarked, his voice steely. Almost immediately, it softened, "But if you didn't come along, I wouldn't have been anybody but a frustrated C-Sec officer watching the world go down because he couldn't find evidence."

Releasing her, he continued, still looming above her, "I was not joking when I said you could have done this without me. But I was joking about the stylish part."

"Nah," Shepard said, reaching up to touch the scarred side of his face. "I am pretty much a straight up shooter. Get the job done and go home, or on to another mission. Never was one for excessive finesse and fine moves."

She thought he'd lean out of her touch, get off the bed and take his leave, all professional and always the team before himself. But he covered her hand with his own, light and awkward at first, before finding confidence enough to lean into her touch and grasping it in turn.

Shepard sat up and proceeded to undo the clasps of his suit. Garrus lashed out a hand to still hers. Their eyes met and she wondered if the same steadiness and the same desperate acceptance of some inevitable doom were reflected in her own.

"It is only a matter of time before I get Joker to set a course for Earth," she told him. "_I _want something to go right, even if it's just for a while."

"What makes you think _this_" — he gestured vaguely — "is right?"

"Hell, Garrus. After everything I've done, you think _this_ can't be right?" She pressed her forehead to his and continued, "You're practically the only thing that's right in my life."

Garrus chuckled, making her lean back to look at him. "Should have recorded that with my omni-tool. Could have had you doing things you would not do otherwise, or sell it to Liara for lots of credits. Blackmail material, either way."

With mock anger, Shepard locked him by the waist and wrestled him onto the bed. Pinning him down with an arm pressed on his neck, she tried to bring up his omni-tool to check for recordings in any case. She may be Commander Shepard of thresher maw on foot and yahg-wrestling legend, but he was still a male turian. With some effort, he slipped his omni-tool arm out of reach and got her arm off his neck. Reaching all the way behind her, he nudged a knee into her ass, throwing her off balance long enough to reverse their positions so that she was under him again.

Clamping her hands over her head, he leaned in close and drawled, "I have reach remember?"

In response, she wrapped her legs around him and pressed his body closer. "I was only letting you win that time."

She was wearing just her tank top and a snug pair of shorts so that it would be easier to slip into her uniform during emergencies. She let him stroke the length of exposed skin and reveled in his nuzzling, breath hot behind her ear and teeth just barely scraping the base of her neck. He liked to do that, said she smelled different when she was turned on, which was his signal, she supposed to start taking things further. She held him closer, her thighs aching from more than just her grip on him. Garrus slipped a hand under her top, and under the bra she chose to wear into bed. His touch burned, the rough pad of his gloved thumb grazing a nipple. She let out a fluttered breath, maybe moaned his name: he was learning.

He growled into her neck. He always growled when he was ready. He drew back, fumbling with the clasps of his pants, and she sat up to help him take his shirt off. She divested herself of her top and bra, allowing him to slip her bottoms off. And marveled through the haze, not for the first time, how he even had the mind to find the oil and rub it onto her.

It was a teasing massage; rubbing the insides of her thighs, coming in close but never touching her where it mattered. She fought to keep her thighs from clamping down on his hands. Instead, she pulled him down and kissed him, touched her tongue to his, feeling her own tingle then numb. Damn this turian tease and the galaxy's DNA varieties.

To encourage him, she alternated licks and teeth to the area just behind a mandible and rubbed oiled thighs against his waist, knowing their sensitivity.

"Be gentle, turian," she began breathlessly, "and no more calibrations."

She almost didn't finish the sentence because he slipped his arousal into her and gave one hard thrust by way of assurance.

"Damn right," she gritted out, unable to keep down the grin. Lifting her face close, she hissed, "And if you so much as get up to use the bathroom after we're done, I'll kick you out of the nearest airlock."

His mandibles flared. She was still learning, with turians, even Garrus, sometimes it could be hard to tell, but she took that as a good sign because he moved; deep and slow, before picking up the pace. She met him thrust for thrust, getting just a little violent with the scarred part of his face, biting down on it as if desiring to stake her claim for a time when she was no longer around. In response, he growled into her ear, holding her head close to his and one of her legs by the back of her knee as he rode her, harder, to that climactic peak.

She came, crying something between his name and incomprehension. The orgasm shook her, blinded her, and deafened her to the point that she just barely heard his own rough cry; only felt the flooding warmth and the weight of his body as he collapsed onto her.

He stayed there for a while and when he made to move out of her, she wrapped herself around him, keeping him in. She could sense the questions but was glad he didn't ask them, for what could she have said to explain this moment when the famous Commander Shepard clung?

When their breathing slowed and she could feel his member retracting, she let him go. She waited for him to up, get dressed and leave, like he always did after sex. The bed moved. Shepard closed her eyes, and snapped them open in surprise when she felt a blanket come over her. She turned to Garrus and watched him as he propped and plumped the pillow before settling into it.

"Human beds," he began, sounding both amused and weary, "I swear they are an acquired taste."

Shepard turned to her side. "One you haven't," she observed.

He looked at her, silent for a moment before saying, "What makes you think I haven't?"

Shepard thought she could close her eyes again and pretend to sleep. She was about to, when she heard him speak again: "Aren't turians an acquired taste too?"

"Not this turian."

He stared at her. She met his eyes squarely. "Why don't you ever stay?" she asked, her voice quieter than she would like it to be.

"And why," he returned, his voice just as quiet, "do you always have me in the dark?"

At that moment, she wanted to scream. She wanted so much to burst: She wanted to know if she was just a Commander to him; come when summoned, go when dismissed. She wanted to know if he was just going to be happy being her friend and her FUCK.

But right then, as the bits of a long puzzle started to settle into place, she knew. Fears and uncertainties mute just as a bullet to the head silences. She knew.

"Because you let me," she told him as she sat up. "I will have you know that I am more than willing to 'ease tension' with you in the CIC when everyone's on duty, dammit!"

A laugh rumbled out of Garrus. "This may be a Cerberus vessel, Shepard, but social graces still apply."

"They can cram social graces up TIM's ass."

She was surprised when he snaked an arm around her waist, was even more so when he pulled her to him such that she was pressed onto his warm chest.

She remained there puzzled, barely hearing his chuckle. When she peered up at him, he said, "But think of the consequences, Shepard. Kelly will ask to join in, and that could be dangerous because I know for a fact that you're one possessive woman."

Seemingly oblivious to Shepard's knowing smirk, he drawled out the rest on the list: "Mordin's tissue culture may not cultivate... And Joker just might crash the Normandy."

"I have that much control, eh?" she replied.

He wrapped his arms around her tighter. "More than you think."

She watched him settle back and close his eyes. She smiled when she saw that he'd worn his visor into bed. At the back of her mind, there was the suspicion of a recording, but it was the least of her concerns. Knowing how private a person Garrus really was, she was sure whatever recording he had, if he _had _recorded anything, was probably going to be kept for personal reasons. The thought made her snicker. She snapped her eyes up to make sure he'd not heard, and found herself studying him as he slept. There was something peaceful about a sleeping Garrus. She knew how light a sleeper he was, ready for anything; always something to do or work on, taking little down time for himself. Emotions of the affectionate kind were alien to her, but in that moment, at a stutter in her heartbeat, she felt she could love, no, _loved_ the turian she was with.

A triviality amidst the immense problems that plagued the galaxy, but given the uncertainties she was surrounded by, it was a tether to what was 'now'. And 'now', while not at the best of times, was at least in a good place.

- Finis -


End file.
